


Chasing Wonderland

by CavannaRose



Series: Rogues Fics [2]
Category: The Flash (Comics)
Genre: Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Gen, It's about drugs guys, Past Drug Use, Recreational Drug Use, References to Drugs, okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-05-16 07:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5819893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evan McCulloch is a man with an addiction, and sometimes it takes the wheel and drives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not condone the purchase or use of drugs. Even the Rogues have rules against them. Bad guys who feel drugs bugger you up too much, got it? DON'T DO DRUGS.

Evan McCulloch liked to consider himself a simple man, with simple tastes, but every once in a while an itch built up beneath his skin. All the beer in the world couldn't drown out his need, and there weren't enough willing ladies to scratch it. Despite the rules, despite the watchful eye of his fellow Rogues, sometimes he had to go out and seek a little something... else. It took him awhile to track down his old contacts. People faded in and out in the business, but if you wanted something with just the right gradient, he didn't mind if it was cut with a little Novocaine for example, you best stick with who you trust.   
  
Treasured 8ball in hand, Evan makes his way to his own private flop. One look around the rundown pisshole was enough to make his hands tighten around the baggy. Everything was old, broken... stinking of misery and poverty. Who wouldn't want to escape this shite, if only for a little while? Pushing empty beer cans out of the way, he settled into the centre of the stained, sagging couch, adjust the nudey mags that were holding the table steady. Nothing worse than a shaky surface for this kind of thing. With a practiced hand he measured out a small pile of the fine powder on his favourite mirror, cutting it into two thin lines with the edge of a second one.   
  
It took him another few moments to find a bill that wasn't crumpled to shite, and though it did smell vaguely of stripper sweat, he didn't really give a rat's arse. With a self-deprecating smile Evan took another glance around the room, kinda went with the ambiance after all. Rolling the one dollar bill up tight, he tucked it up to his nose, bending forward and snorting down the first line. He sat up, exhaled quickly, before bending down to repeat with the second. He hadn't missed much, so he ran his finger over the mirror, tucking that last bit of powder under his lip, before sitting back and waiting for the numbness to take over.  
  
Slowly that prickling ease coasted through his veins, relaxing him against the ripped upholstery. Closing his eyes with a sigh of relief, the Scot surrendered to the white, chasing Wonderland...


	2. Withdrawal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming down is a bitch.

Evan sat on the couch, the thin blanket he had wrapped around himself clammy with sweat. Kicking the cocaine wasn't the worst, it was the procaine cut into it that really got it's hooks into you. Cracking one red-rimmed, bloodshot eye open, he let out a low, pained groan. It felt like a thousand spiders were skittering through his veins, bleeding out through his very pores. He half wanted to slice his own wrists open just to stop the feeling. It's not like he'd be missed anyway.

Despite the sweat coating his body his teeth were chattering, his whole body a-tremble, his shot senses could barely determine if he was overheating or freezing to death. With another pained groan he tossed the vomit-encrusted rag aside, it wasn't helping him at all, and the stench was about enough to make him start hurling all over again.

With great effort he pushed himself to his feet, taking a few stumbling steps towards the bathroom before his wobbly legs gave out on him, and he crashed to the floor with a hollered curse.

The Scot figured he'd be right and truly fucked before he called for help, or puked on himself _again_. Shaking with exhaustion and shame he raised up onto his hands and knees and began the torturous process of crawling to the the bathroom, every painful inch an agony. He swore, words slurring together. All he needed was a little bump, something to get him through the worst of this.

Inch by brutal inch he made it, rough palms finally coming into contact with the chipped tile, hard and cold, that indicated he was at the bathroom. Shuffling himself across the filthy floor, he reached behind the toilet, feeling around for the small baggy he usually had taped there... for emergencies.


	3. The Next Hit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're never quite over it.

Addiction was a funny thing. Some people could kick a habit with nary a spare thought, others struggled against the same siren call their whole lives. For Evan McCulloch, it didn't seem to matter how many times he kicked the habit, if he waited long enough, Wonderland always came calling when he least expected it. Maybe there was something weak inside him, something that couldn't cope with the real world. Perhaps he'd simply been hooked too early. Whatever it was, the itch was back under his skin.

He moved through the Rogues den in a heated blur, barely noticing the sights and sounds of the place as he made his way to the shabby box he called a room. Slamming the door behind him, he locked it, flinging himself down upon the stained mattress on the floor. Fighting off the cravings was getting harder and harder, and he was just plain exhausted from it all. A calloused hand reached out, picking up a half-crumpled beer can from beside the bed and giving it a swish. Lukewarm liquid sloshed within, and with a sigh he tipped it back, letting the foul, yeasty fluid run down his throat. It wasn't nearly enough, but for now, it was what he had.

Evan flipped open his phone, thumb running down his contacts. He had enough from the last job to pay for a bump, just a little something to tide him over, but deep down inside he knew it was never enough. A hit or two wouldn't fill the ravenous hole inside of him. If he wanted to take a proper trip to Wonderland, the Scot would have to pull a job or two first, get some proper funds going.


End file.
